


The Bestfriend

by ravenarc



Series: One Shots [3]
Category: BLACKPINK (Band), Kpop - Fandom
Genre: AU, Betrayal, F/F, Loss, Sad AU, sort of a relationship but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 03:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenarc/pseuds/ravenarc
Summary: Rosé just wanted someone to love, but when her bestfriend lusts for more attention- she finds she might not be the one imagining anymore.





	The Bestfriend

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~ Just something I wrote forever ago that I thought I'd put here because why not. It's short and kind of weird but I hope you enjoy it and I hope you'll enjoy more of my work in the future!

She was my very best friend.

“Hush, darling, hush.” My sister held me in her arms, silver skin  _ almost  _ brushing mine. With my head pressed against her hollow chest, not a heart beat to be heard, my own blue eyes stared out emptily from my skull. Wisps of white hair floated in the still air in front of them, dancing in patterns never repeated. Her left hand tried to dry my cheeks, but tickled my chin like a butterfly kiss, never to truly  _ hold  _ me. She sighed. “I am with you.”

To any onlookers, I was a six year old girl alone in a graveyard, hugging nothing, speaking into silence, but to me, I had my whole world in my arms. 

Jennie was not my sister by blood, she wasn’t by blood at all, she didn’t have any. She was imaginary, to put it plainly, she simply existed only for me, but that didn’t stop her from existing. 

Years had passed since that day, but I’ve remembered it clearly none the less. Jennie made things bearable, she was my friend when no one wasn’t, and my family when they all moved on. 

A fourteen year old orphan. 

When I was young, I would summon her with a snap of my fingers, something we came up with together. If I needed her, I would snap and she would come, appearing out of nowhere to calm me or play with me. 

But I could get rid of her too.

It was at that time that I noticed a change in her, as she aged with me. Honestly, I pushed off my fears as the “rebellious teenage stage” my foster mother always complained about, and we’d all laugh around the table good heartedly because all she had was teenagers.

But Jennie didn’t.

Jennie never did. 

I learned quickly, thanks to the many snide comments from my siblings in the home, that talking to Jennie like a real person in public was cute when I was five, and psycho at thirteen. I chose not to say a word to her for a year in front of others lest I be ridiculed. She didn’t enjoy that, but she kept her opinions to herself and her rude faces saved only for when my back was turned. But she had her days.

“You must acknowledge me, Rosé!” Her tone was not even a complaint, but a demand. “I am not invisible.” 

“Oh you’re only too real.” I muttered, rolling my eyes, a smile creeping onto my face. My back was turned on her, but I could see her in the mirror as I pulled my hair up into a ponytail. 

I felt an inkling of another hand slipping across the skin of my arm and spun around. She always shocked me when she did that. 

“I am! Do not look so appalled.” But there wasn't the slightest trace of a grin in her smile or warmth in her eyes. 

It was always the perfect, unbroken English that got me, she never pushed words together the way those of us who spoke in a laid back conversation did. 

“You  _ touched  _ me, Jennie.” I said. “We both know that should be impossible.”

“ _ Should  _ be.” She spat, the slightest anger seeping through the cold cracks in her voice. “Snap if you need me.” And she melted into the synthetic light of my bedroom.

We didn’t speak for a little while after that. 

There was a certain time, an hour when the days of past crept slowly into my veins, thickening the sluggish flow, that I knew I would need Jennie. 

_ “Snap if you need me.”  _

So I did. 

“What is it, sister?” She spoke from behind me, her voice so familiar. She put a hand on my shoulder, and for a moment I sank into her touch, until I realized she couldn’t touch me. Or at least that was not within the powers she  _ used  _ to have. 

I whipped around. Her white hair didn’t float in the still air like it should have, but it hung in a halo around her shoulders, almost real. Her ghostly hand, heavy on my shoulder,  _ heavy,  _ slipped down, squeezing my wrist, then letting go completely. 

I couldn’t find words to push through my closed throat. 

This was her, a porcelain doll made of lucid china, standing before me. She reached out again, her left hand brushing, really brushing, three stray strands of hair away from my face. A painful memory laced with her touch passed behind my eyes. 

She drew me into her. 

“I can hold you now, Rosé.” But I pulled away, shock lingering in blinding colours on my face. 

“You can’t do that.” I whispered. “How did you learn to do that?” I wasn’t really asking, a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach begged for me to send her away. “You should go.” 

“But you asked for me to come here.” Her brows knit together, worry creasing her skin. Her very real, very pale, skin. 

“I wish I hadn’t, Jennie, please.” I raised my hand. My heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings against the steel bars of my rib cage. She had never been able to touch me, and I never understood why the thought scared me so much. 

I had only ever forcibly gotten rid of her once, when we were little, and when she came back, she cried in my arms. It was a horrible experience for her, I assumed, and I promised to never do it again. 

But if she didn’t agree to go, I would make her. 

She narrowed her eyes, no longer sad, no longer quiet. I started something I didn’t know how to finish. 

“Fine.” She left me in my own stony silence. 

“I have all the power.” I whispered to myself. Nodding, I popped some advil for the major headache and prayed my heart would settle down. 

 

She showed up the next day in school, and I swear I didn’t snap my fingers. 

She sat at the front of the class, legs dangling over the side of the counter by the whiteboard, grinning maliciously and talking nonstop. I couldn’t always hear her, but she was a distraction all the same, and there was nothing I could do about her in class. 

I raised my hand tentatively, giving her the stink eye. 

“I need to use the washroom.” My teacher nodded, barely casting a glance my way. I stood, blood boiling, and walked right past Jennie, banging the door on the way out. Maybe, if she could touch me, she couldn’t pass through doors. 

Sure enough, she reached a foot out, stopping it so it could bounce back open. She slipped through the crack. 

“You know, Rosé, you really are too old for an imaginary friend.” I shut my eyes, we weren’t yet in the safety of the silent tomb my school called a washroom. “I cannot believe you have  kept me around for so long! I guess you cannot really get rid of me can you?” I pushed the heavy door open, again, making it hard for her to slip through. But instead of trying to get through the centimeter wide hole I had left, she pulled the door open herself. 

“Jennie you know you can’t move things in public. If anyone saw that, they’d know I didn’t touch it.” I muttered through grit teeth, not having yet turned to look at her. 

I walked pointedly to the mirror, pretending to fuss with my hair. She stood beside me, messing with her own. I noticed a tiny blue elastic tying back the thin, slippery strands of her snow white hair. We had tried, when I was younger, to do her hair but the elastics passed through her body, just like the hair brush, just like it should have.

That was  _ my  _ elastic.

“Jen…” 

“What, Rosé?” She turned her head and I did too, locking my frightened eyes in her snare trap gaze. “Are you jealous? Are you afraid of me? Remember when we fantasized about this? Remember when all we ever wanted, was for me to be like you?” 

I didn’t look away. Tears,  _ real  _ tears, were forming in her eyes but apart from the foreboding, it was so wrong. 

“I was a child, Jennie.  _ I  _ was a child.  _ You  _ were not. You’re right, I shouldn’t have kept you around for this long.” I sighed, shaking my head. Her face contorted, eyebrows knitting and mouth turning downwards. 

“How can you betray me like this?” She whispered. “I’ve been there for you since your family left you. I  _ am  _ you family!” She reached out, again, searching my eyes with her own. Her touch was no longer faint. 

“The more real you become, the more dangerous this endeavour is.” 

“What endeavour?  _ Life?  _ Life is no endeavour, Rosé!  _ My  _ life, is no endeavour! It is as real as yours.” 

“No, you’re not real, Jennie. No one else can see you.” 

“But they will, if you remain my friend. It will be like we always wanted!” She pleaded. “We will be sisters.” 

I couldn’t send her away, but I refused to acknowledge her for months. 

That was my biggest mistake. 

It was two years later, I was a girl of sixteen. High school was a challenge, I had moved homes twice in the past year, and I yearned longingly for a friend, but I never once thought about Jennie. 

I walked slowly across the cafeteria floor, my shoes squeaking against the polished sheen. There was a girl, one I had a mutual relationship with, bridging slightly on the line of friendship, but not quite. I sat across from her at our table in the back. 

She inclined her head, pushing her glasses up her nose and returning to her reading. 

“Survive math okay?” She asked, her tone as it always was, detached. 

She looked up, repeating the question. “Rosé?” 

I wasn’t listening to her. My attention was across the room, four tables away from us, with thick, white, hair. 

I squinted my eyes in disbelief. She was coercing with other people, girls and boys who thought  _ I  _ was invisible. 

Jennie hadn't talked to me in months,  _ years,  _ and there she was.  _ Existing.  _

“ _ No.”  _ I said. 

“What?” She pulled of her glasses and set aside her book. “Rosé what is wrong with you today?” She said, furrowing her brow, but regardless, I stood and walked away. 

I slipped over with a fierce frown, then thought better of it, pasting a synthetic smile on my stone cold face. 

“Hi, guys.” I had no idea what I was doing, but I needed Jennie. “Can I,” I searched for the words, eyes locked with Jennie’s. “Borrow Jennie for a moment?” She smirked and for a small infinity I felt my blood run cold. 

The others eyed me with suspicion, raising perfect eyebrows. 

“Jennie is new as of an hour ago,” One said, her voice high and mighty, she turned haughtily to Jennie. “Sweetie you didn’t tell us you knew  _ Rachel.”  _

“It’s Rosé.” Jennie said sweetly. “Sure honey let’s go sit over there.” She pointed at a table with no inhabitants, partially because it was neighbours with the garbage can. “We can talk.” 

I gave the others a satisfied smirk myself, Jennie had the piece of mind to stand up for me. Instantly I second guessed my decision. She had been nice, but then I remembered the smile, the glint of pure hatred and bloodlust. That did not belong in this world. 

She sat down in front of me, searching my face with ice cold eyes. 

“Hello, Rosé.” She widened them, feigning innocence. “What exactly do you want from me sister?” It was not a pleasant question. 

“How can they see you?” I hissed. “Why are you here? What do you want from us?” I shook my head, my mind a mess. 

“Simply to be recognized, acknowledged,  _ loved.”  _ She breathed. “Something you haven’t given me in a while.” 

I felt so tired, so weak. Her gaze was sucking the life from my veins. My friend from the table miles away looked up at me, straight through me. It was like to her I had disappeared. 

And then I realized she really  _ was  _ taking the life from me. 

My eyes widened in surprise. 

“Jennie?” 

“Yes sister?” She answered, studying her nails. She looked back up. “You’re looking faint, darling are you feeling alright?” But she knew, she  _ knew.  _ She cocked her head. “So now you have caught on. I am taking your place, Rosé, so I can live and be loved, love and be noticed, acknowledged. I was never meant to be  _ neglected,  _ and the price you will pay for the extent of the abuse you handed me is your life. Your place of purpose in this world.” 

“You have no power.” I pushed the words past my dry lips. 

“But I do! You would have noticed so if you were not so tied up in telling me I, in fact, _should not_ have it, and you do not have power to neglect me anymore. When I am through, I will be the absence in hearts that look for you. No one will remember, and Rosé will be the name of the imaginary girl _I_ left behind when I was seven.” I could physically feel myself melting away under her plaintive stare. 

“What ran through my head as a child, that made me decide imagining  _ you _ was a good idea?” My voice was small, wounded and I hated it, I  _ hated  _ it. I was talking to my own creation.

“I could ask you the same question,” She said. “Now who is imagining who?” Her smile was wicked, white teeth flashing in bitter silence. She had been the scared one, not me. She should be crying.

“I’ll snap my fingers.” I threatened, holding up my hand, a murder weapon wrapped in flesh. “Nothing will stop me.”

“There is no need for drastic measures,” She gave me a look as if surrendering, her own hands held up in front of her, warding a potential blow.

The painful irony was entwined within the imaginary strands of Jennie’s imaginary hair, flowing down her imaginary shoulders, to her hands, to her eyes. It was only too real.

And then she snapped  _ her  _ fingers. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! It's kind of a weird story so if you have any questions about it I'll gladly answer them if things are unclear haha, regardless thank you for taking the time!


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